Henry Wilton "Hank" Lewis

Funeral services for Henry Wilton Lewis, age 76, were held Thursday, July 7, 1994, at Bader Funeral Home with Rev. Mark Lohr officiating. Interment was at the Lusk Cemetery.

Mr. Lewis died Sunday, July 3, 1994 at the Niobrara County Nursing Home in Lusk, Wyo.

He was born November 19, 1917, in Harrison, Neb. to Thomas Lee and Elsie Leeling Lewis.

"Hank" followed the rodeo circuit and broke horses for the Cavalry at a remount station in Front Royal, VA. During his service in World War II, he was heavy equipment operator for the Corp of Engineers serving in the Pacific Theater.

Upon his return from the service, he married Winfred Sexton in 1946. To this union three children were born, Linda, Anita and Gary.

On June 1, 1957, he married Doris A. Kinney and a daughter, Katherine was born.

He worked in Gillette and Newcastle on heavy construction, building highways throughout Wyoming until returning to Lusk where he served on the police force. He was chief of police at the time of his retirement. He returned to his hobbies of horseback riding, hunting and enjoying the outdoors.

He was preceded in death by his parents; his wife, Doris; one brother, Elden; and a grand daughter, Amy Ann.

He is survived by all his children and step-daughter, Karen; two sisters, Katherine Brewster and Evelyn Larson; ten grandchildren; two great grandchildren; and many nieces and nephews.

Bader Funeral Home of Lusk was in charge of arrangements.

I Saw My Spurs
By Henry Wilton Lewis, 1942

I saw my spurs the other day -
I knew right where they were-
There with my saddle, hackamore, chaps,
And blanket grey...
Were rope, martingale...
And spurs...

I remember how I felt that night-
When it took an hour to coil by rope
And shine my spurs just right...
I don't want to ever get through -

For over a year they've stayed right there.
In that room my brother and I used...
Just us two...
Case dust and broncs and song and hair
Was the only life they knew...

"There" - "In you you boy's room"
I heard my Mom say...
There was something in her tone...
For she had seen that there they stayed...
Until I could be home...
The gloves were stiff
And the rope was brown...
Rough from use and wear...
But the hackamore (on which the reins were wound)
Hung just like it had
When I'd left it there...

The spurs hanging on a nail
Buckled together with straps (and thoughts so fine rest on the rowels) I'd made
And cracks in the leather...
The silver looked dull...
No more does it shine

Locked at the point
Of one of the stars
A little grey hair was there
For the last grey bronc
Now wears some scars
Where one time there was hair

There's romance in stories
That can't be told
Of sweat...And places to roam;
They'll not be traded...And never sold....
They'll hang
On the wall
At home...